Forty may be the new twenty, but I don’t think my body got that memo. I used to be able to handle stress much better, not that I had the stress I have in my forties, but the carriage that houses my soul never used to show signs of that stress. I would bounce back and be prepared for the next onslaught of tension, armed and ready to kill that dragon.
These days, I am not as fortunate. The knots of stress seem to locate the weakest parts of my body and finds the forty-something-year-old muscles far more inviting. Like an unwanted house guest, it settles in, makes itself comfortable and it chooses to stay for a while.
About a month and a half ago I injured my knee while shoveling snow. Who knew an activity so benign could leave such a lasting injury? The pain subsided and temporarily vanished, but every so often it flares up again and I am currently moving slower than some of my mom’s new acquaintances in the retirement home.
I have yet to go to the doctor, but that trip is looming. The male part of my brain had me convinced that the temple that is my body would heal itself, but that seems far-fetched as I hobble around my house this morning, wishing I had a cane. In my self-diagnosis, compliments of Google, I realized that I have most likely torn the meniscus in my right knee. It could be a minor tear but could also lead to surgery if not properly diagnosed and healed.
(image credit: oralchelation.com)
Today, for me, forty feels more like the new sixty but I am determined not to let this affliction get the best of me. I will beat stress and injury into submission with determination, tenacity and a borrowed cane!